


N009: Possession

by Rhion



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-08 17:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhion/pseuds/Rhion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was powerful. Charismatic... Magnificent. All that he surveyed bowed before him at one point or another. And when he wanted something, he would come to possess it - by cunning, skill, diplomacy, violence, or manipulation. Eventually - because he'll have earned it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 08' in Notepad. Abandoned fic, though chapter one can stand on its own

He'd always watched her, it was impossible not to. For oh so long he'd held out. Done nothing more than guide her, be there for her - be strong for her. Love her. Somehow he took a misstep, but by this point he no longer cared. It had started out simple enough, as many things are wont to do, maybe it had started when they were little and she would insist on going wherever he went, carrying her teddy-bear with her at all times. Or possibly when she got chickenpox - and told him to protect Mr. Bear for her so he wouldn't get sick. Then of course there were the endless games of house, where Susan would cry if he didn't play. Peter of course couldn't stand Susan crying, it was a terrible sound, that while not as horrific as nails on a chalkboard for most people - just the start of a sob from her was enough to set Peter on edge.  
  
Then of course... maybe it was when they got a touch older, when she'd gone from looking so much like a small porcelain doll into something more feminine. Energy was at a premium, so they used to take baths together, and the changes his sister was going through were as obvious as his. Still he hadn't ever said a word. Though sometimes... sometimes she'd look at him and blush as though she knew what he was thinking, crossing her arms modestly. Even so, on cold nights or when she had a nightmare, Susan would still come to him as always, no longer clutching a teddy-bear, but only hugging herself until he replaced her arms with his own. Of course nothing ever happened, Peter was a good brother, simply made sure to ease her fears, comforting her how he was supposed to. And when she slept, if he pressed a kiss to the corner of those plump lips? That was his business.  
  
War tore their country asunder, their lives and their family - and there was Peter, standing tall, even when uncertain - doing whatever he must. Taking his father's place in the caring for Lucy and doing his best with Edmund - the trouble truly started there when Ed, half asleep after a nightmare he was soothing him from, had called him 'Dad'. The next day, Edmund had glared at him, as though it was all Peter's fault that the details of their father were slipping away. Susan tried to help Peter, to pick up the slack, and she did a terrific job. Still barely more than children, they were the adults in the house, the ones who stood firm and let their mother mourn however she must the absence of their father, the ones who did bedtime, the laundry, dinner, pack lunches and make breakfasts. When the call came for the Pevensies to go to the countryside, to stay with the Professor - well, by then Lucy couldn't really remember their father, and definitely didn't remember what it was like for Mother to  be Mother. All roles were filled to capacity, and still Susan continued to bloom.  
  
The arch of Susan's neck would distract Peter whenever she pulled her hair up into a too neat bun, all he wanted was to press his nose there, to brush his lips over it. Still, and still - he never did anything untoward. When other boys were playing games of soldier, Peter was not playing games at all - he was both a father and a husband to his family. Susan would kiss him before bed and after breakfast - a chaste thing on his cheek. And at times, Peter would turn his head just the barest amount seemingly by accident, so that those lips pressed to his instead. It was as far as he would let himself go. When the radio would play a waltz, Susan would gaze longingly at the floor in front of the little box, and Peter would grin. In those moments he held her in his arms, dancing clumsily until he got the rhythm, making her smile. For that he got a kiss on the mouth - happy, yet chaste as ever. If she had any idea the effect she had on his body, he wondered if she would have still leaned her head on his shoulder sighing, breath sending shivers down his spine.  
  
Narnia happened, with Lucy and Edmund both coming to treat him as their father and Susan as their mother. The dresses Susan wore, those were hard for him to bear - accentuating her hourglass figure, showing the tops of her cleavage, and clinging just so to her bottom as she walked. Hips all asway, perfect curve to her back, with tresses so long that they hung far below her waist. Sometimes he'd sit in her room talking with her before bed, watching as she brushed those silken locks, and if he was lucky her arms would get tired, the brush then offered to him with a tiny smile. Peter relished those times, his fingers stroking each wave before he'd pass the brush through it. Those times were also when he'd take the opportunity to run his fingertips over the back of her neck, pushing her hair aside, to lay a soft kiss to Susan's nape. That would always make her giggle, swatting him, telling him that it tickled. Smiling he'd rest his chin on her shoulder, looking at her in the mirror, not letting her see how much he'd love to tickle her everywhere.  
  
At some point though, Peter couldn't hold back any longer, couldn't be the good brother. When Susan came to his room one night - as she did once every week or so - wrapped in soft silk, crying, having dropped the strong front she wore around everyone else, his control snapped. But not so she noticed. When he held her tight, his hands rubbed circles in her back as they had always done before - but now they spread as well, kneading her hips and shoulders as he pressed feather light kisses over her face, removing the salty tears. Peter wasn't aware of it at first either, but the next night, when he lay in bed he could remember what her waist felt like beneath silk, of what the small of her back was like under his fingertips. Not much had happened, yet still - it was too late and he didn't know it.  
  
XXX  
  
A knock and he was at his door, opening it. Susan stood there, hugging herself. Allowing her to pass by soundlessly, Peter's face was stony as he closed the door. Glancing down at his hand where it was steady as a rock on the knob, cocking his head, studying it, somehow disconnected from everything. Flicking the lock as though it were nothing more than an afterthought, Peter went over to his table, pouring a small glass of wine for Susan.  
  
Sipping from it, letting the bitter tart taste roll around in his mouth, Peter watched as Susan slid under his covers waiting for him. Swallowing, Peter sank beside her, holding the glass out.  
  
It was taken gratefully, as Susan propped up against his side, "Thank you."  
  
Without a word, Peter nodded, brushing her hair from her shoulders, then resting his hand on the dip of her back. She was so warm. Leaning in, Peter inhaled the scent of honeysuckle and jasmine, rocking from side to side gently, doing his best to ease whatever it was that made her cry this night.  
  
Taking the goblet from her, "What happened?" his voice easy, normal.  
  
But control was gone, Peter was gone, but he was there, unable to even remember to stop his hand from cupping her cheek.  
  
"Nightmare," leaning into the touch.  
  
Maybe if she hadn't done that he would have regained some of his senses.  
  
"About what?" it was a simple matter to pull Susan to his chest as he lay back.  
  
"White Witch," two words that spoke volumes.  
  
For some reason he had gone to bed in nothing but a pair of loose leggings, as though part of him knew Susan would come. The downy softness of her cheek on his chest branded him. His blood quickened, laying thick between his thighs. Yet he didn't do anything. Humming tunelessly deep in his throat, rubbing lazy circles on her back and hip, that dragged the skirt of her nightgown up in a careless fashion, Peter just did his ever present job. It had changed whether or not either of them had noticed. In fact - Peter's role had changed long ago, diverged from that of older brother, to that of protector and of husband. And now it was time he eased his wife in all but name, and eased himself. Patience had worn down, been thrown away - Susan was seventeen now, he was eighteen - the years in Narnia had erased all inner taboo in Peter by now. For all this time it had been mere habit that kept his control intact.  
  
Gentle touches, soft kisses, it seemed so natural. Susan was half asleep, nightmare forgotten by the time Peter had the hem of her shift at her hips, and his fingers had been trailing up and down the outside of her thigh. Part of Peter had anticipated this, and he'd practiced several times on females from the outlying countries that sent emissaries, so at least he knew he would be able to make this good for her. If he ever got to it.  
  
Quirking his lips in a half grin, tilting Susan's face up, "Susan?"  
  
Blinking sleepily, her hand running unconsciously over his chest, "Hmmm?"  
  
"I love you," nuzzling at her face.  
  
"Love you too," scrunching her nose with a smile.  
  
That was all he needed to hear to strengthen his resolve. This night, Susan was his, she loved him, he loved her - this.. this was right and good and natural. Kissing her mouth, moving his lips over hers slowly, reminding himself to keep it light, to keep control, to not snap and just take her, sucking on the plump flesh, containing somehow his groan of desire. Susan's blue eyes opened in surprise, but the emotion was drowned out as Peter continued to kiss her, licking at her mouth begging entrance. She let out a tiny sound as she blushed, her hands fluttering to his shoulders while he rolled them over onto her back. Keeping his weight off of her - Peter didn't want to scare her with how hard he was, just wanted to make this good, make this gentle for her - his lips traveling over her cheeks and finally to her neck. That was almost his undoing, he'd always loved her neck, the length of it, the smoothness of it, the paleness of her skin - and it's taste was sweeter than he'd ever imagined. Somehow Peter managed to not nip at her, to hold off on such desires until next time, slipping down her body, tugging the shoulders of her nightdress down, continuing his study of all her creamy flesh.  
  
"P-peter?" it was soft and uncertain.  
  
"Shh, it's okay Su," reassuring her.  
  
"Wh-what are you...?" the words broke off into a quiet sigh as Peter pushed his knee between her legs, rubbing her groin with his thigh to give her a taste of pleasure.  
  
Stroking her cheek, "It's okay Su, let me love you."  
  
"O-okay.."  
  
Untying the top of her shift, he spread it open, even when her eyes widened at the action, Peter soothed her with another press of lips, "Do you trust me, Su?"  
  
"Yes," her hand atop his having halted his movement.  
  
Giving her fingers a significant look, raising an eyebrow, "Then don't worry, it's just me. Lay back and enjoy, okay? It'll feel good I promise."  
  
"Promise?" still she hesitated, fingers flexing around his hand.  
  
"I love you, Su, I wouldn't lie to you, it's okay, just trust me," smiling at her just so - in that way that always banished fear in others. He knew what he was doing after all.  
  
Biting her lip, Susan visibly forced herself to relax, laying back against his pillows, watching him. Sweeping the backs of his hands over her breasts, feeling how her nipples hardened at the casual touch, Peter held her gaze as he opened his mouth, sucking on one of the peaks. Her eyes rolled back, a startled whine working its way from her throat. Massaging each globe, switching his attention from one to the other and back, Peter nibbled just the lightest amount until Susan's face was flushed, head tossing from side to side. Pulling the silk of her gown down further, so it was tangled around her waist, Peter lay wet kisses over her skin, nuzzling at the soft curve of her belly, delighted in how she felt beneath his cheek.  
  
"Lift your hips," quietly ordering her as he grasped her nightdress, and when she did so shyly, Peter removed it from her, scooting down to her feet. The blankets were tossed to the end of his bed, and the fabric of her gown was thrown aside, leaving her open to his gaze.  
  
Susan's knees turned in, an arm going to cover her breasts, a hand covering the dark thatch of curls between her thighs. She looked so demure, this alabaster goddess that lay in his bed. Running his fingers over her legs he told her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her. It was his mouth on her thigh that earned a gasp of wet pleasure, and he could smell her all of a sudden, a salty sweet scent thick with meaning. Peter knew better than she what it meant, but he said no more with words. With only the smallest amount of urgings, her legs parted, allowing Peter to run his tongue up her inner thigh to where hip and leg joined. Taking a deep breath, savouring this, the cries he was about to cause would be Susan's first, and he wanted to imprint all of it on his mind.  
  
Peter could tell Susan was about to say something, but before she could speak, he swept each forefinger down her cleft, parting her with the motion. Continuing it, Peter leaned in, swiping his tongue up her slit, circling the pink pearl there. Hands scrabbled for his hair, her hips rising as she let out a mewl. Lapping at each crevice, Susan was becoming frenzied, her legs sliding around his shoulders and sides, a foot pressing into his back, fingers tangled in his hair. Moaning hungrily against her hidden treasure, Peter worked her over until there was a garbled sob that was supposed to be his name. The taste of her was thick and salty, the significance of that not lost on him - containing a satisfied grin, Peter repositioned himself, holding her in one arm against his chest, free hand teasing at her entrance, pushing a single finger inside of her.  
  
"Peter!" burying her face in his chest, shock at the invasion turned once more into pleasure as Peter massaged her walls, adding a second finger when he felt she was ready.  
  
"Does it feel good?" whispering in her ear before kissing her, letting Susan taste herself on his tongue.  
  
"Yes," her lips moving over his, as though she couldn't get enough of her essence flavouring his kisses.  
  
One minute Susan was wild, the next shy and frightened again, back and forth as Peter drove her relentlessly, coaxing several orgasms from her. When her hand brushed over the hard bulge in his loose pants, that was when he finally had to stop focusing so entirely on her pleasure. Taking her hand, he pressed it over his silk covered cock.  
  
Panting against the side of her neck, "I'm so hard for you Susan..."  
  
"What...what I...don't understand? What am I supposed to do?" he could feel Susan trembling in his arms, still unsure even after how he'd been so diligent in pleasuring her.  
  
Knowing it was just a virgin's fear - nothing more - Peter whispered hungrily, "Push my pants down... please?" With shaking limbs, Susan did as he asked her, biting her lip as she slid the fabric down his hips to mid-thigh. Encouraging her, "Farther, all the way off - please... please Su."  
  
Finally free of the restrictions, his manhood twitched with each breath, knowing, aching for what came next. Susan kneeled at the foot of the bed, not quite looking at him, taking a shy peak every few moments, to see what fate held in store. Licking his lips, Peter waved her back up to him, and she came reluctantly, laying on her side, hands clasped together, looking up at him through her lashes. Taking her in his arms, Peter started kissing her all over again, rolling atop her, settling between her thighs that he pressed apart with a knee after she'd locked them. Inhaling slowly trying to calm his ragged nerves, Peter rubbed against her, wanting Susan to feel what she did to him, how hungry she made him. As she relaxed once more into this new thing, he could feel how soaked she was, knowing she wanted this as much as he did - she said she loved him aftervall.  
  
"I love you so much Su," moaning as he positioned his throbbing member, "this... this may hurt a little, I'm sorry. I'll be gentle, I swear."  
  
Susan's eyes were scared but trusting as she nodded her assent, and Peter pushed, inching forward. Whimpering Susan turned her face aside, a tear slipping from the corner of an eye. Panting with exertion, he rocked, sweat forming on his brow as his arms shook, allowing Susan to adjust to the intrusion. All he wanted to do though was ride her until he came, but he wouldn't - this was to be special, to be good for Susan. Her body was stretched so tight, so wet, Peter thought he'd go insane from the heat and how good she felt, her skin was so soft. Each tiny gasp from her as she held in her pain, and Peter had to admire her bravery, then suddenly something gave and he was all the way inside. It was like coming home, forcing a sob from Peter, his mouth seeking hers out, licking kisses. At some point he realized he was moving, rolling his hips against hers, and Susan was arching, pulling him deep into her body. From there it didn't take him long, and he spilled with a series of hard twitches, moaning his completion into her ear.  
  
Cuddling Susan, sweaty and spent Peter fell asleep knowing that she was all his. He'd claimed her and would never let her go.  
  
XXX  
  
It had taken much doing, but eventually Peter had convinced Susan to no longer sleep in her rooms, but only in his. Lucy had been ecstatic - what with her Mother and Father finally sharing the same room. Endless questions were issued by Lucy as she played asking when she'd have a little brother or sister. Peter would laugh giving her a tight hug before sending her Susan's way telling her to suggest to Susan that the High King and Queen should get on that post haste.  
  
Things went like this for some time, Peter was happy, as happy as any man could ever hope to be, except for two tiny little snafus. Susan wouldn't marry him - thus allowing all the foreign suitors to court her, and for some strange reason... they had yet to produce a child. If Peter had only known that Susan, still practical and logical, was taking the root of the jilail bush to prevent such a thing, he would have been furious. As well as concerned. Of course. Though of course whenever he would complain to Susan of the suitors, of course never mentioning the childlessness for he'd never wish to insinuate that she were barren for that'd be cruel - she'd only point out the fact that Narnia was a small kingdom, and being able to use her as a possible bargaining chip was to the good. For without a doubt Lucy was not ever going to be used in such a manner - neither adult would allow it.  
  
On a sunny afternoon, the benevolent High King changed.  
  
He'd seen something that made his blood run to ice, a frozen fury lacing his veins, and lashing at him. Peter had been looking through an orchard, and there he saw an Archenlander - yet another of the endless number of suitors - kissing -  kissing  his beloved. Holding in his fury, Peter approached the pair, and told the young man - one Peridin - that he was no longer welcome in Cair Paravel. After the Archenlander left, Peter's anger still was not slacked. Turning away from Susan the ever so Magnificent King had made sure in no uncertain terms that her time as a bargaining chip was over. Somehow though the ties with Archenland remained strong, even though Peter no longer allowed anyone to entertain such thoughts as to Queen Susan's eligibility as a wife. Possessive would have been a kind description. Edmund would wear a worried frown at times as he watched Susan pass, not able to quite place his finger on what was wrong. Lucy was just as perceptive, but any questions asked to either of her parents was thoroughly rebuffed.  
  
No one knew the exact why of any of it, but no one said anything either.  
  
XXX  
  
Susan was pacing from one end of the sitting room to the other, like a caged cat, her hair in tangles. Peter was unmoved. When she rounded on him, tears in her eyes, even still - Peter didn't react. He just sat there, deceptively calm, leg over one knee, watching, a small bag that he'd found recently held loosely in his hand.  
  
"No right! You have no right!" she'd gone from reason, to anger, to fear, to tears and back again.  
  
"Don't I?" Peter's tone was mild, his blue eyes measuring. Cocking his head, "You do realize that your histrionics mean absolutely nothing to me at this point, don't you?"  
  
Her hands raked through her hair, mussing it further, "I don't want to have a baby!" Then things escalated - she threw a chair across the room breaking it, as she screamed, "And I don't want to marry you!"  
  
That was when he lost it, rising from his seat, he found himself picking Susan up and shaking her so hard, as he hissed, "You will marry me! And you will have children as a wife is supposed to!"  
  
Susan's cerulean eyes narrowed, her voice as sharp and cold as a frozen tundra, "No."  
  
Of its own accord Peter's hand lashed out, striking her cheek, then held the small bag of powdered jilail root infront of her eyes, "And  this will not continue Susan. I forbid it."  
  
Tears of anger and pain and shock fell from her eyes, fingers held trembling to her cheek, "I'll kill myself."  
  
"You'll do no such thing Susan," with a snort as he released her with a shove. "Don't be so damnably mellowdramatic. As is you have enough guards to sink a ship, don't make me add to them."  
  
"I'm a queen in my own right Peter, you can't just order me to do something..." drawing on that reserve of bravery that she showed rarely. Most times he thought she was beautiful - but right now, she was being difficult. By now she should know when to bow to his will.  
  
Throwing the little bag into the fire, his back turned, "I'm the High King, Susan - and you will do as I say. I'm done allowing you to prance about, you've squandered your freedom. Now it's time to do things your way. The way you've forced them to be." Bracing a hand on the lintel, Peter ignored how his eyes burnt, maybe from smoke or heat, certainly not from tears of grief. There went the foolish thought that she'd loved him. "We did things my way, you had everything you wanted and more, but this whole time you've been lying to me. How many of your suitors have you lain with? Has it been in our bed? Were they any good? Huh? Tell me that Susan. I will not be cuckolded in my own home. Not ever again. The next man who lays a hand on you dies, Susan."  
  
"I do love you," it was a strangled sound. "Peridin was nice to me Peter. It was just a kiss. And that was weeks ago." He could hear her moving closer, could almost see her hands held out to him, entreating, "I've always been faithful to you."  
  
His grip on the fireplace went white, "Somehow I doubt that." Growling, "Go bathe. Now. And be prepared for me in bed. I'm going to go say goodnight to Lucy and Edmund." Giving her a dismissive glance, "For both of us."  
  
XXXX  
  
Peter had taken a walk to calm his nerves, gathering a few flowers to give to Susan as a weak gift of truce. He didn't really think she'd ever been unfaithful, and logically he knew what he'd seen with Peridin was nothing - truly nothing more than a brush of lips over her cheek. But the jilail powder - that was what had driven him to madness. Yes, that was it. How could she not want to bear his children? They loved each other, and they loved Lucy and Edmund. Shouldn't they fill Cair Paravel with the sound of happy giggles? Taking a deep breath, Peter struggled to maintain his cool, he didn't want to go back to his chambers angry. It would take some coaxing, and he owed her profuse apologies, because he'd hit her - something he'd never thought he'd do - but Peter was sure that Susan would see reason. A little bit of time, that's all it would take - and they'd be wed. And she'd be with child.  
  
Plucking several beautiful blue roses and lavender ones, Peter made a tiny bouquet, smelling those wonderful Narnian blooms. Nodding to one of the guards as he ascended the steps from the garden he noticed Edmund standing there, frowning out into the night, arms crossed. Raising an eyebrow at the young man, Peter came to a stop, head cocked.  
  
"You look as though you have deep thoughts, Ed."  
  
"What was all the shouting about Pete?" dark brown eyes focused on him. "And why didn't Su come say goodnight?"  
  
Sighing, "She wasn't feeling well - I told you earlier."  
  
"Hmph," the young Just King looked doubtful.  
  
Deciding to clarify, "She and I just had an argument, nothing more. Afterwards she said she was tired and went to bed. That's all - you needn't worry yourself."  
  
Chewing his lip, Edmund ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, "Maybe she'd like to go for a ride tomorrow to make her feel better?"  
  
"No, I haven't the time to escort her, there's the emissaries from -"  
  
"Since when does Su need an escort, Pete? She's the best archer in all of Narnia, she can hold her own just fine," while it sounded so reasonable, Peter didn't like it. Not at all.  
  
Nostrils flaring, "It's not seemly Edmund, what of bandits? What of those who're not satisfied with the fact that her hand isn't on the table for marriage anymore? No - it's too risky and it's far from appropriate."  
  
Edmund pushed off the wall, piercing him with his gaze, "If you say so, I'll bow to your better judgement. But - it's not good for Su to stay so cooped up," with that, and without so much as a by-your-leave, he walked away.  
  
Mulling it over as he made his way back to their chambers, Peter decided that maybe Edmund was right, and maybe he shouldn't just take for granted that Susan loved him. He should woo her as he once had, remind her that she was his and that it was a good thing. Opening the door to their rooms, he found them quiet and dark. Closing the door with a click, Peter let his eyes adjust to the gloom - even the fire was out.  
  
"Su?" calling out softly, not wanting to wake her if she were asleep.  
  
There was a snap as a spark was struck lighting a candle, revealing Susan sitting by the hearth, wrapped in a large blanket. She didn't say a word, just dropped the cloth and walked to their bedroom. Following closely with a worried look, Peter saw that she was wearing nothing at all. Setting the candle down, Susan didn't look at him, just got on the bed, waiting, staring at the ceiling.  
  
Sitting next to her, "Susan? What's wrong?"  
  
She just turned her head, looking at him finally, and her eyes were puffy and red, worn out from crying, "Nothing at all. I bathed my King and I am in bed, as you commanded." An angry bruise graced the left side of her face, bottom lip split, and Peter was disgusted with himself.  
He'd done this to her.  
  
Pursing his lips, he glanced down at the bundle of flowers he'd collected - they seemed paltry and silly in comparison to what he'd done. Holding them up though, for it was all he had to give, "I picked these for you."  
  
"Thank you," it was quiet, unobtrusive. Emotionless.  
  
Offering, "Would you like to put them somewhere?"  
  
"Wherever you like is more than satisfactory for me," sitting up and taking them from him. "You tell me where, and that's where they'll go."  
  
Becoming frightened - who was this mechanical creature standing before him - Peter used his gentlest voice, "Well where would you like to put them?"  
  
Susan ducked her head, then put them in a small vase that already held several flowers, rearranging them quickly. With a rapid shuffle she was back to the bed, but instead of climbing in it, she knelt, laying her forehead on his knee, hair hanging in loose waves over her back and shoulders. He didn't like this, where was the strong woman he loved? She certainly wasn't this creature who was silent for the most part, this suddenly wholly subservient Susan didn't jive with his perception of her at all. Normally Susan was capable, diplomatic, graceful, gentle, practical - and never vulnerable, except with him. Stroking the back of her head, Peter found himself alternately worried then angry. The anger...he wasn't sure where it was directed at - at her or himself.  
  
"Talk to me Su," something was buffeting at his control, trying to take possession of him. Peter needed her to distract him.  
  
Not looking up, "It will take a few months for me to be fertile again, and then I should become pregnant quickly. Would you like the wedding before or after I'm with child?"  
  
Flinching, "Susan."  
  
"Yes my King?" furtive glance to his face, then her gaze was dropped just as fast.  
  
"Peter, my name is Peter," clenching his teeth.  
  
"Yes, Peter," turning her face on his leg, so he wouldn't see the ravaged part of her cheek.  
  
Closing his eyes, Peter stood up, turning his back on her to pace. Allowing his gaze to go back to her for a moment, he saw Susan kneeling there, hands clasped in her lap, head bowed. Wincing, he strode over to her, taking Susan by the shoulders and forcing her to rise. Examining her face, Peter tried to find something other than this mask she wore.  
  
Tilting her chin with a finger, "Would you like to go for a ride tomorrow?"  
  
"If it pleases you Peter, I should like to stay indoors, so that I may be here if you require," though her bottom lip trembled.  
  
"I'll go get Lucy's cordial," keeping her naked body pressed to his clothed one with his hand at the small of her back. She was shaking, and he could see how rapid her pulse was from the vein in her neck.  
  
"Why?" and she flinched when his grip tightened on her.  
  
Tipping his head down, Peter pressed his face into the side of her throat, "Because you're hurt. I want to fix that."  
  
Susan's hands came around him, and he could feel her uncertainty, hear it in her voice, touch it in how she trembled, smell it in the salt that still clung to her skin, "There is nothing to fix, Peter, I am well." As though to acknowledge the fact that he'd struck her would anger him, and it dawned slowly - Susan was afraid.  
  
Of  him .  
  
XXX  
  
That night, and many others, Peter did not sleep in his chambers with Susan. And the Gentle Queen no longer went for long rides, even when Edmund or Lucy asked her to accompany them, saying she wasn't in the mood. Peter watched from shadows when he could, trying to figure out how to fix his beloved, to get back what they had. Sometimes he'd glare at his hands, as though seeing them as belonging to some stranger. Other times his angry gaze would land on the Queen, but no one really noticed when this happened. No wedding came, nor a pregnancy. The Queen's wine was dosed with shaking fingers by the High King, the root of the jilail bush once more in her system. If he could strike her, Peter reasoned, then he was not fit to be a father.  
  
Battle was a relief, Calormen attacked, and Peter threw himself into it. None could stand before his blade, and Rhindon dripped not just blood but offal and gore. Edmund was leading by his side, so to the enemies of Narnia - it looked as though Cair Paravel was undefended. At night Susan would pace the corridors, sending messages, planning relief regiments and caring for the wounded - a general in her own right. Just as strong and mighty as the two kings. It didn't seem odd to anyone - for in public life, the Queen was her usual self, with only minor changes. When the attack on Cair Paravel came - Peter was far away with the bulk of the standing army, and Edmund was at sea with the whole of the navy.  
  
The Gentle Queen earned her other title - Mistress of War - and the attacking armies were ground to so much mulch on the walls of Cair Paravel. Peter was proud when he heard, heart swelling, knowing that his beloved must have returned to normal. And that she would need his strength to sooth the nightmares this war would cause her when he returned. It was the only time he was grateful to the thought of her dreams, for it would provide a bridge, something for him to cross so that all would be well once more. As the victorious army was returning, Peter's entourage was attacked - and he was severely wounded trying to save one of his commanders.  
  
Carried back to the gates of Cair Paravel, the High King was born in a stretcher and was met by a frantic Susan, who in retaliation, sent Edmund to wreak vengeance upon Calormen for their audacity. Peter refused to drink any of Lucy's cordial, saying it was better saved for those in deathly need. So, Susan nursed him back to health quietly and without reservation. At night he woke sometimes to hear her crying infront of the fireplace, and it tore at his heart. When he was well enough Susan started helping him to his armchair at the fireplace, a blanket tucked around him firmly as the season had turned chilly. Things changed for them once more because of this.  
  
XXX  
  
He was feeling frustrated and while he was enjoying the way Susan was caring for him - Peter had been deemed not strong enough to do his husband's duty. And that was irking him to no end. Though it wasn't as though he'd demanded it all that often before he'd been wounded - Susan wouldn't look at him, and that would make him angry, driving him near to striking her. So Peter hadn't been doing much of that earlier anyway, but it was high time they got back to normal.  
  
Catching hold of her hand as she passed, "Su?"  
  
"Yes Peter?" squeezing his fingers, a distracted smile on her face, "What can I do for you?"  
  
"Make love to me," gazing up at her, kissing the back of her hand. "Please."  
  
Frowning just the tiniest amount, "But the doctors said you aren't healed enough."  
  
Shaking his head, "It doesn't matter Susan, I need you." Managing to lever himself up, Peter wrapped his arms around Susan's waist, "I want to make love to you, I miss you Susan." Kissing her, tasting winter applewine on her lips, wanting to show her how much he craved all of her still. As he pulled away resting his lips on her forehead, "I want you to be my wife, and I want you to be happy. I want  us to be happy again Su." Looking into her soft blue eyes, "Please tell me it's possible."  
  
"I... I am happy," but it rang false, that weird note that had been there the last year or so tinting the words.  
  
"Susan - tell me how to make you happy. Don't -" cutting her off before she spoke, "don't tell me you are when you aren't. I know you aren't happy at all - I watch you all the time Su, you never smile anymore, you don't laugh, you don't do anything anymore, not really." Stroking his thumb over her cheek, long healed, yet still he could see the angry marks there though they were gone, "I know it's my fault. Tell me how to fix it, to fix you, to fix us. I'll do whatever it takes."  
  
Sighing as she touched his lips, "I don't know Peter." That was her voice, the first time he'd heard it in forever directed at him. Those long round vowels, the inflection - it felt like an eternity since she'd spoken like this. The candidness in her face, "I do love you and I am.. content."  
  
Peter's leg was still weak, and his side was sore, but it didn't stop him from dropping to his knees before her, head bowed over her hand, "Then whatever it takes, I'll set things right Susan. I swear it in Aslan's name."  
  
"It's not like that Peter," sounding panicked as she knelt next to him.  
  
"Then tell me what it's like," ignoring the pain in his body, pleading. Susan looked down, uncertainty that was so different, like she wasn't trying to just please him. This was what he wanted. "Su, you can tell me anything. Anything at all. Do.." shoving aside the fact that this thought hurt him horribly, "do you want to have suitors again?" The look she gave him was appalled, which was a relief. Leaning in he kissed her gratefully, and Peter was even more grateful for her returning it sweetly. Like she used to.  
  
"Peter - careful!" when he swayed trying to regain his feet. Susan's grip was firm, he'd forgotten at times that beneath all that soft skin she was well muscled, that for all her daintiness - she was more able-bodied then most men. "Seriously, Peter - sometimes I worry about you," it came out less cross and more concerned, which made Peter want to smile.  
  
"Yes well, what sort of king leads his troops directly into battle?" leaning on Susan's shoulder, asking rhetorically.  
  
Archly, "The same kind that goes and runs headlong into an ambush." Then with a kiss Peter found himself on their bed being settled in, "And the same who rules his people fairly." Long fingers were untying his tunic, checking his wounds, "As well as the same kind who does foolish things for love."  
  
Grunting when she prodded at his side, "What? Like dropping to his knees while wounded?"  
  
"Yes," hands sweeping his shirt all the way open.  
  
Managing to hide his surprise, when Susan leaned in kissing him shyly, her hands pressing on his shoulders gently, Peter repressed a hungry groan as her lips parted. Tangling a fist in her hair encouraging her with wordless entreaty, opening his mouth so her tongue could sweep the cavern. This was  definitely  what he wanted. It was an effort to not yank her back to him when she pulled away, but Peter had had enough of forcing Susan to do his will. It hadn't worked out very well. So it was time for patience and diplomacy.  
  
Licking his lips, a small smile gracing his face, eyes twinkling, "If that's the sort of reward I get for doing foolish things - I think I'll do them more often." Looking around in mock speculation, "Now let's see... what sort of trouble can I get into from here?"  
  
"Please don't Peter," a desperate note entered Susan's voice, completely uncalled for considering how playful things had been there for a few moments.  
  
Looking at her sharply, "Su? What's wrong?"  
  
Her forehead was pressed into the center of his chest, right over his heart, and wetness fell there like blazing rain, "Don't do dangerous things just for me. I can't stand you being hurt." Susan's fingers raked lightly through his chest hair, "Do you have any idea Peter...? Any at all?"  
  
"About what?" gathering her hair into a thick ponytail with one hand, holding it away from her face.  
  
"When they said you'd been attacked... no one knew if you lived or not," Susan's eyes were clenched, a muscle straining in her jaw, hands becoming fists, "And all I could think was that I hadn't made you happy, that I hadn't been doing what you wanted me to do, that you had probably died thinking that I didn't love you. So.. when I saw you... breathing, alive - I vowed that I would do whatever it was you asked of me. No matter what, and... and I tried before Peter, but I promise I'll try harder now. Even though I don't know what you want or need from me, I'll keep trying until I get it right. There's no way... no way I can live without you."  
  
Saying softly, bringing her chin up so he could gaze into her deep blue eyes, "Is that why you cry at night in front of the fireplace?"  
  
"Because I did wrong, and I can't bear to hurt you again. And I don't know what I'm doing, but I have to try, and if I try hard enough - maybe I'll get it right."  
  
"Su..." Peter's throat was tight, constricting, her words were his feelings. "Susan, I hurt  you  and.. yes you hurt me too. But what I did was worse Su, I scared you, and you changed because of it. I just want us to be whole again, and I want us to be us. More than that though - I don't... I don't want to hit you or be angry at you, or feel ashamed each time I look at you." Sighing, "But each time you just.. bow to whatever I want without a word, without an opinion... Sometimes it makes me so frustrated Su, and then I feel shame because it takes all my willpower to not strike you. We shouldn't be like this, we love each other - and that's a good thing."  
  
"I didn't know!" choking on a sob. "I thought I was doing what you wanted... " Her mouth came down on his, fingers tangling in his hair, begging him to forgive her. "Please Peter, I'm sorry, let's... let's get married, let's have children... Let's be happy, anything... anything you want, you need, I'm here, I swear!"  
  
Moaning, Peter wrapped his arms around her, disregarding the pressure her weight put on the gash in his side. Breaking free of the kiss, panting, "I only want you. All of you. And to be happy.. that's all. I want to make you happy. I want you to need me."  
  
"I do need you, I do..." and he believed she did.  
  
There was fumbling as Susan hitched her skirts up, pushing his leggings down far enough to free him, dragging off her bloomers, throwing them away. When her slim fingers wrapped around his prick, Peter thought he would die, the skin massaged over the hard-as-steel length driving him crazy. Muggy heat surrounded him from her thighs then the scratch of her pubic hair on his tip, cool fingers rubbing him a sharp contrast, then Peter arched back with a groan as her nether lips parted, liquid fire searing him with pleasure. Susan slid down him rapidly, and Peter could feel her getting wetter by the moment with each rock of her hips. Susan's mouth was everywhere, body churning over him, desperation fueling her movements. He didn't think he could hold out, it'd been so long, and she'd never gone after him like this before, like her whole life depended on having him with her. It was how he felt, exactly how he felt - there was nothing that meant anything to him but her, not really. Responsibility, duty, honour, family, propriety - it paled in comparison.  
  
Trying to participate, though his leg protested violently, and his side felt like it was going to rupture, Peter thrust upwards, a hand like a vise on the back of Susan's neck, keeping her lips near his. With his other arm, Peter held onto her waist, pulling her against him. Moisture dripped down from where they were connected, proof of Susan's hunger, and Peter almost howled with animal triumph as she let out a soft keen next to his ear. Her shuddering threw him violently over the edge, causing him to shoot his seed deep as he convulsed beneath Susan's weight. Moaning as he clutched Susan to him, satiated on more levels than just the physical for the first time in forever, Peter fought sleep.  
  
Making a low sound in his throat, "I love you."  
  
Her answering smile was bashful, "I love you too. Was.. was it okay...?" Without urgency motivating her actions, Susan was starting to retreat again.  
  
"It was more than okay," gathering his strength, he rolled them over, "I told you - I want you to need me. To want me, to love me." Hiding a wince, as his wound stretched, "Because I need you Su, I always have. Always, I can't remember a day in my life ever that I didn't love you or want you or need you. Not ever."  
  
Something shadowy was hiding in the back of his mind when he said that. It didn't take much to shove that aside, because it almost felt as though whatever it was would put a damper on things. And that wouldn't do at all. So tucked away, whatever that thing was, stayed well hidden. After all - it couldn't matter that much.  
  
XXX  
  
A courtship began between the High King and his Queen. It was a strange dance, for many had thought the High King had long since earned the Gentle Queen's hand. Though everyone smiled, because he was smiling, and because Susan was smiling. Peter found himself bringing her flowers, randomly sending a note to wherever she was telling her of his love, or that he had thought of her and smiled. In return there were small things on his person, a small dried flower here from one of his bouquets, sometimes one of her earrings was fastened into the collar of his tunic against his skin. Or the times when Susan would rise before him, Peter would waken to have his clothes laid out for him, a folded piece of paper with nothing more than 'For you' written in neat script on it. Sachets of lavender and orange were sewn in silky lace, hung in his wardrobe, to scent his clothes. Times were happy once more, and all was well.  
  
Yet still the High King continued to give the order for the Gentle Queen's wine to be dosed.  
  
Eventually Peter could take it no longer, and he asked Susan to marry him. She said yes, her smile radiant. They had ruled for seven years side by side with Lucy and Edmund, and no one, not anywhere, could remember a time before. The White Witch was all but forgotten, things were known intellectually, but had slipped away in meaning long since. Lucy was a shining point of loving brilliance as she walked down the aisle before her Queenly Mother, and Edmund, stood by the High King's side, back straight. So many things people never seemed to notice, from Edmund's tiny frown as Susan and Peter kissed after saying their vows for all to hear, or to the timidity of the High Queen earlier in their reign. Little things here and there, yet, and  yet all felt well, all seemed well, so all  was well.  
  
Susan began to act strangely after the wedding, and each month she would cry near silent tears in her bath. Peter would hear, but didn't let himself think about the why of it. Each night he'd pour her a glass of wine, and one for himself - but hers would contain the smallest dose of jilail. Just insurance. Of course the question of what sort of insurance it was, or against what... well against pregnancy obviously. As he'd pass her the glass watching her sip it with a smile, holding his hand, Peter would wage an inner battle against knocking it from her grasp. Why didn't he want her with child? So long he'd wanted to see her round with his children, to give playmates to Lucy - who was now too old for them.  
  
Then for some strange reason, Susan started to cease drinking wine. Any wine at all. When he'd try to offer her some, she'd shake her head telling him that she didn't feel like having any. Water, always water, fresh and cool, that's all her pitcher ever held. Peter began to pull out when they made love, though Susan's queries put a stop to that quickly. Soon, the monthly tears ceased, and dread instead of joy weighed Peter's heart. For three months, there were no tears, and his wife said not a word. And for two of those three months, Peter would awaken to the sounds of illness, as Susan's body protested.  
  
XXX  
  
Sitting in his study, the High King went over the same paragraph four times on a trade agreement with Galma. Resting his forehead on his palm, Peter tried to concentrate. It was impossible, too much weighed on his mind. There were treaties, policy, laws, agreements, disagreements, all clamouring for his emotional, and mental attention. Not only that - Susan had yet to speak to him about the child that was growing within her body.  
  
"You look irritated," Edmund walked in unannounced as was his habit, and flopped in a chair, boots softly thunking on Peter's desk.  
  
Raising an eyebrow, "I take it that's your way of asking me what's on my mind?"  
  
Snorting, "Hardly." Hands crossed over his stomach as Edmund sank lower in the chair, "I just wanted to ask you about the tournament next week."  
  
"The answer's still no," setting the papers aside for later when his mind wouldn't wander so badly.  
  
"Why not? We've lost the last four, ever since Su asked you not to compete." Gesturing expansively, "Calormen has been eyeing the Lone Islands, and we don't really want another war, do we? So - a little show of strength would do some good." Shrugging, "It's a small price to pay, Pete. Just let me join -"  
  
"You're not old enough!" snapping.  
  
"Ha! That's rich!" pursing his lips. "You  know I'm peerless. And besides, how old were you in your first joust? Eh? Fifteen? I'm older than that, I'm seventeen."  
  
"Your mother doesn't want you in the lists," sighing. "And neither do I. Just think of how it'd break her heart if you were wounded..."  
  
Edmund got up, muttering, "Not as badly as you broke hers," spinning on a heel and stalking away.  
  
"More troublesome everyday," groaning, though something niggled, something dark, on the edges of his mind.  'You're not Father! You'll never replace him!'  
  
Wincing, Peter shoved the voice away - reminding himself it meant nothing. Nothing at all. That was just a distant nightmare. That's all. That's all it  could be. Gritting his teeth, Peter got up, fists clenched, pacing back and forth behind his desk, a pale track already worn there from years of similar bouts. Spur of the moment, the High King decided to throw all caution to the wind, and wrote several quick notes to his captains. He'd champion his kingdom for the first time since he was wounded. Another note was sent to Edmund, requesting two extra hours of practice a day, to brush up his skills. And a last note was sent to his wife, saying he'd love to have a private dinner with her that evening instead of one in the feasting hall.  
  
XXX  
  
Utensils clinked on their plates, though for the most part it was only Peter eating.  
  
"Do you not care for the fish?" frowning at Susan's near untouched meal.  
  
"Oh no it's... it looks good," smiling tightly, yet her eyes were fixated on it like she expected it to get up and eat her nose.  
  
Reaching over, he switched their plates, and cut off a large chunk of flaky pink flesh. Examining it with a shrug, he tried his piece, then made gagging noises, hands going to his throat. Susan got up panicked, but Peter straightened up with a grin, waving her to be seated once more. Tucking into it, smiling as Susan rolled her eyes at him, "Well, it tastes fairly good. But I take it you're not in the mood for fish." Patting his lips with his napkin, he leaned over, cutting up several bites of venison for her, "Try this then, maybe it'll be more agreeable to your pallet."  
  
Eying it warily, Susan opened her mouth when he held the fork to her lips, "You know I don't really like red meat."  
  
"Try it anyway," placing the morsel between her lips, watching as Susan's full lips wrapped around the fork. Slipping it back out, saying absentmindedly, "I hear that things a woman doesn't normally like, tend to be devoured while with child. The stranger and less liked... the more the mother to be enjoys them."  
  
"I..." she looked away, fidgeting.  
  
Scooting his chair closer to her, Peter touched her chin with a finger, turning her to face him, holding up another forkful of food, "You need to keep up your strength."  
  
Silent minutes passed with the High King feeding his wife by hand, encouraging her to eat until he was satisfied she'd consumed a healthful amount. His fingers trailed over the apple of her cheeks, eyes always locked on hers or her mouth. Inside the part of him that was primitive, delighted in caring for his mate in such a manner, making sure that Susan was well fed and that the food was at least somewhat pleasing to her.  
  
When her plate was mostly empty, Peter turned back to the rest of his food, waiting her out. She'd speak when she was ready. Pouring himself another glass of wine, he concentrated on appearing nonchalant, carefully cutting off bits of the fish, watching for the small bones.  
  
"Are you mad at me?" small voice.  
  
"No, of course I'm not mad." A sip of wine, tart and acrid, followed by buttery dill fish, "I just wonder why you didn't say anything."  
  
Susan fidgeted, tucking and untucking a strand of hair from behind an ear, "What if I lost the baby?" It was a whisper, "I didn't want to disappoint you."  
  
Pushing his plate away, Peter's brow beetled in thought, "You wouldn't disappoint me Su." The thumb of his left hand rotated his wedding band around his ring finger, while he stared at it, "I just wish you had seen fit to tell me, that's all."  
  
"It took me so long Peter, I just.. I had to be absolutely sure... and it would have broken me Peter, if I'd gotten your hopes up and then dashed them."  
  
Forcing a smile, "Su, I've told you before, all I need really is you. Everything else - it's just icing on the cake. A bit of extra goodness, that doesn't fill the void that would be there without you." He didn't mention the fact that he had been medicating her at any point - better to not court extra trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found my external hard drive which had section two of this thing sitting on it. Unintentionally I finished section two (it had mostly been finished, but not quite) so here it is. After a bit of plotting with nagia, I also know how to finish this story, so let's see what I can pull outta the ol'brainpan. No promises on how long that'll take me though, as it depends on which muse tackles me to the ground this weekend. Sometimes it's Dark!Caspian, others, it's Pirate!Caspian, still others, it's Amnesia!Caspian or Memories!Su, and sometimes Briala tackles me and says "HEY LET'S WORK ON OUR ORIGINAL STUFF OR SOME MORE FEROXICAL MUSINGS OH YEAH!" (The Edmund muse is sneakier and strikes me from left field, stands back, and smirks. Cheeky bastard.)

Peter won the seasonal tournament for Narnia, and as well the following ones. Susan became round with their child, and a beautiful little boy was born. Bryant was a happy child, and wanted for nothing. Not even playmates, for Susan bore Peter another child two years later, a girl they named Alyssa. On a late fall day, many years into High King Peter's rule, the White Stag was sighted near the Lantern Waste. Something that could grant any wish if caught. Personally he didn't care much about it, but Edmund and Lucy wished to see it for themselves, and, always happy to have a family outing and, alright, he was bored and could use a good hunt, Peter found himself acceding with more excitement than he initially thought he would have. As a whole, the royal family went after it, even little Alyssa and Bryant. Including Susan, who was with child for a third time. Perhaps it was unwise to risk that, but, it was just a small hunt, a good excursion, it would get Susan and the children out and about for some fun...

A terrible thing happened then, something that Peter would never have thought possible. All those dark voices had meaning, all those shadowy things that hid in his mind nagging the corners of his consciousness had substance. Social mores of England intruded violently as Lucy had found something. It was a lantern, wrought iron, which was obviously why the Waste was named for it. Spotting it, Peter knew exactly what it was and what it had meant, but feigned ignorance in hopes that Lucy would come away from the terrible thing. But she had not, and the young woman had bolted forward. With Edmund hot on her trail. Susan had looked at him with luminous, worried eyes, worried for Edmund and Lucy, and had whispered that the lantern made her feel frightened...but with a mother’s determination, Peter knew she would chase after them herself. 

Peter had had no choice but to follow, drawn, forced, coerced by some unseen force, to follow. He must protect his family from the strangeness and Susan had come along as well – Alyssa and Bryant holding her hands as she’d waddled forward. There was danger, he knew it, and the foes weren’t physical. The sound Susan had made when she lost hold of their children’s hands would forever be indelibly etched in his mind. Inside, something shattered within Peter at that sound, and he was suffused with guilt and certainty that she could have resisted, but chose to follow him out of trust, Lucy and Edmund out of love and a desire to keep them safe. But it was nothing in comparison to the crashing memories everyone else suffered, and far worse, Susan – his beautiful Susan – was young once more.

And without child, her body emptied of the heartbeat and kicking life that had, just that morning, been soothed by his voice.

Alyssa and Bryant had been lost, alive, their hands wrenched free...but the child. Oh Aslan, it was too cruel. None of that was relayed to the Professor, it was too, too cruel to utter any of it.

No one ever spoke a single word about it, not ever. Edmund once came to him to speak, but his younger brother had opened his mouth then snapped it shut. For Peter’s look had brooked no discussion on the topic. But he knew Edmund had comforted Susan many times, he could hear the muffled sobs and his brother’s voice when he stood outside of Susan’s door, forehead pressed to the wood. If only she would come to him, but now the closeness they had shared before Narnia was gone. Along with the intimacy they had in Narnia as well. 

Peter tried to do what he could, and he still carried the family. With Susan doing the other half of the work. The job after school he had taken provided further income, most of which was spent on the family’s upkeep to add to the wages their mother earned and that provided by the government for their father. Every extra pence he had was spent on Susan, or carefully, laboriously hoarded, so that something specific could be found just for her, anything he could find. Small presents were left under her pillow as often as he could afford something nice. Rare, black market trading resulted in silk undergarments and other such things as a husband would buy for his wife, and he had debated many times a letter of love. Though he never would do such a thing – it could be found by someone else. In spite of their mother not being very present, or doing much of the housework, Peter just couldn’t dare risk the consequences of being found out. Not until he and Susan were older, able to flee blasted Finchley for some place where people forgot to ask questions.

So Peter did his best to cope with not just the loss of his children, his country, his power, and his family, but the loss of the love of his life. She was dead and she was alive – so close he could touch her. And he couldn’t. Susan wouldn’t let him, going so far as to give him a very brisk smack him once when he had tried to kiss her. The anger and frustration were pervasive elements of his life now. Fights over childish things were welcome outlets for his angers and hurts. But other than that one time, she never struck him again, likely figuring her point was made.

XXX

Dinner was through, the dishes done, the children’s – no, they were his siblings – homework done. Swallowing, Peter watched from the doorway as Susan put the finishing touches on the sack lunches for their Saturday morning outings, as, during the week, the schools provided, but home, well, Susan did what she did best. Of course Peter had just come home, he’d gotten in a scuffle on the way home from the pub after work, and his lip was split. She wasn’t aware of it yet, so Peter simply accepted the quiet peace that would end in moments. But he would take whatever interaction he could get, whatever acknowledgment she would give him. 

Even if it was a disappointed sigh and a dampened cloth.

“Where were you?” it came out cool, her back still to him, and he recalled what Ed had once warned Lucy about long ago...that teachers and mothers all had eyes in the backs of their heads. All the better to know what naughty, sneaky children had gotten into.

“Out,” baiting Susan.

She turned to look at him, then a dark frown pulled her face, her arched brows tugging over her nose, full mouth, a mouth he missed and longed for, hungered for, pursing into as flat a line as the beestung flesh could manage. “You got in another fight.”

“Of course,” snorting as he moved forward with a shove of his shoulder from the door’s lintle, crowding his wife. No, she was just his sister now. But she would always be his wife – and to hell with what the world thought about _that._

“And you’ve been drinking,” shaking her dark head, blue eyes narrow, disgust waring with disappointment over her visage.

Leaning in, face inches from hers, “Of course I’ve been drinking.”

Pert nose wrinkled, “Go clean up and go to bed Peter, I don’t have time or energy to fix you up for your own foolishness. I’m through with it.” Turning her face to the side, hand pressed to the center of his chest in warning, “God you smell like a bad brewery.”

Chuckling bitterly, knowing that the scent of beer had always made her nauseous, except for that dark stuff the minotaurs made that Ed had always liked, but Peter hadn’t ever acquired a taste for it. Too much like drinking bread instead of a good, solid red or pale ale, full of hops and tang. “And what if I want something other than you fixing me up?” Peter asked as he moved even closer, arms framing her, trapping her against the counter.

“Go to bed Peter, sleep it off,” her gaze flashing to sudden fire then ice once more, pretending ignorance, and shoving his arm aside, stepping free. 

Grabbing her arm, Peter yanked her back to him, “Su, you will do as you’re told.”

“What I’m told? You’ve gone mad if you can’t remember that we’re in England, Peter,” struggling to get away from his vise-like grip, but it wasn’t a real fight, she never could resist, always too worried about doing another person harm. Especially him, especially after Calormen... By Aslan, if she would just turn that passion and strength of hers away from this flaming, childish separation!

“And you are my _wife_ ,” snapping, teeth bared, sick of being denied what was his.

Susan froze, skin going pale but for the bright points of colour in her cheeks, “Let go of me, Peter.”

Irrationally angry – how dare she deny him _yet again_? Didn’t he do _everything_ for her? Peter’s hand drew back whacking her over the face sharply with the flat of his palm, even in his cups, he remembered to never use the back of his hand again, never the knuckles, never, ever that again. But that didn’t stop him from snarling, “You’re my wife, we said our vows before Aslan! Before our people! Are you so faithless that you’d go against that? So fickle that you think you can throw away what that means?” 

A few tears of surprise fell, shock and betrayal on Susan’s face, “Stop it. Please,” echoing the old pain, voice suddenly faded and washed out, weak.

Taking hold of both of her shoulders, Peter shook Susan roughly, uncaring of the way his actions mirrored so many of those of the past, “You dare to remove yourself from me again and again. You loved me, you swore it! You swore you’d do what it took, that you would love me, dammit! I’ve given you everything Su, do you sit up there and mock me?”

“Stop…please,” hands flying to cover her face as she shook her head in denial. “We’re in England, Peter… England. There is no Aslan here… No Narnia, we’re trapped _here_. This isn’t Cair Paravel, there’s _laws_ and right and wrong, and this isn’t allowed!”

Backing her into the wall, yanking at her delicate wrists, Peter pinned them to her sides, commanding her, breaking through, because for fuck’s sake, it was time they got somewhere. Peter would _make_ her remember her place at his side, make her remember that it was only him who could truly chase away her bad dreams, could keep the dangers that plagued the strongest of all queens at bay... “You are my Queen, Susan, act like it. England or not. Once a king or queen, always a king or queen, have some damn pride, woman! You’re not some random peasant trollip! You’re a queen and the laws here are nothing to us!”

She sobbed brokenly, and that gave Peter pause through the haze of drink that fogged his mind. Letting her go, Peter stormed out of the kitchen to the den where he stared out the window, listening as Susan fled to her bedroom. With a growl Peter leaned on the sill, angry at himself for striking her. Loosening the top buttons of his shirt with aggravated jerking fingers, Peter then rolled his sleeves up, untucking the starched fabric - it was irritating. Once he’d worn the finest weaves of cloth, the softest leathers, the strongest armour. He hated the colourless and roughness of the mean garments he wore, but not as much as he loathed the ones Susan wore, they didn’t belong on that body at all, they didn’t deserve to dare to touch that flesh that belong to him.

But no, Susan was right – this was England. Bloody, merry old England. Dreadful, hateful, awful place. He hated it, and everything about this evil insane land. This country was filled with colourless people, and the social stigma of his feelings was disgusting. Who cared what the little bleating sheep believed? Noisome creatures that would risk defying the will of someone like himself. Oh yes, his feelings were disgusting to them...just as he was disgusted with the selfish and bland beings that populate England. In Narnia no one had cared. Hell no one had _remembered_ , and even if they had, they wouldn’t have cared, really and truly. Love was love, none of it was criminal so long as both (or more) parties were of sound mind and body to consent. Man and man, woman and woman, any number...all was accepted. By the Mane and Breath, Peter had officiated a faun with a Calormene woman who had come seeking refuge from cruel slave masters! Slamming his fist on the wood, Peter sought to collect himself. Raging would do nothing, or if it did anything, it would be more harmful than good. Going to the liquor cabinet, scrubbing one hand over his jaw, missing the healthy beard he once sported, he poured himself a more than generous portion of scotch. He’d paid for it, he may as well drink it, cheap and rough as it was, it’s what could be had from under the counter at the shop.

Raking his hand through his hair, Peter collapsed into Father’s chair – who was Father anyway? Peter couldn’t remember after all these years. Of course that didn’t matter, _Peter_ was the father of this family in all ways that counted and had been for far longer than the man whose loins he’d sprung from. Almost two decades in Narnia, and for several years of the war, and again, adding in the present months... No, Peter was head of household in all but legal name. Their parents had become, pitiably he supposed, nothing but placeholders, names and incomes at this point. Staring into the bottom of the glass as though it held all the answers, Peter brooded. And what would happen if he got called to serve? That would leave just Susan to care for everyone. As strong as she was, Peter didn't think she had the emotional reserves left to do that by herself anymore. She was right, she had no power here, none would listen to her, and without the steely spine she once possessed before leaving Narnia stole it from her, she hadn’t a hope of pulling through without his help and presence.

Floorboards creaked softly, and his battle-honed instincts alerted him to the quiet sound even though it wasn’t all that near. Bare feet scuffing, it would most likely be Lucy heading to the loo. But they approached, coming down the stairs slowly, and Peter frowned even more than he had been before. Cocking his head he listened carefully, but then the smell of Susan’s jasmine talcum powder he’d purchased for her after having dug and searched so hard for it, hit his nose. Another of those minor extravagances he’d done for her, it wasn’t honeysuckle and jasmine oil, but it would do. One day...one day she would be returned to some semblance of proper glory. First she would have to show she appreciated him, or at least...no, no he probably would do it anyway, Peter was helpless against his need for her. Susan could foolishly rage at him, and he would still do everything possible to see her to the finery she deserved.

Rubbing his forehead, Peter took a long sip of his drink waiting to see what route she would take. Susan paused for an age then finally came around to stand before him. Her arms were crossed, hugging herself – she was always doing that, like she was trying to keep everything inside, like a soldier with a gut wound frantically, futile struggling to stuff ropey guts back in where they belonged – a robe enveloping her in shapeless grey. It was a colour he detested and it was even worse when she wore it. Right then she looked as fragile as she always had, wearing the drab like armour around a shattered soul. Aslan, he just wanted to pry it off of her, see to the wounds under that armour, love her, keep her, take her, revel in his wife’s softness that she shared only with him... But he couldn’t get under armour if he was always being resisted...not unless he was willing to do more harm to get to the soft flesh beneath.

“You shouldn’t be drinking so much,” tucking a loose curl behind an ear, not quite looking at him, the long line of her delicate throat working on a thick, nervous swallow.

Peter grunted, his gaze measuring, “Oh? And why shouldn’t I, Su? I may be called to serve at any time, and I stand alone here now.” There, let her think on that little fact, maybe that would coax and jog her to positive action. “I’ve worries by the million, why not drown them when I can?”

“I don’t… Peter, please,” Susan shook her head, voice cracking, hands working over themselves with fidgeting anxiety with no thick, heavy drape of fine cloth to mask the reflexive action, “we need you to be...stable.”

“Stable? I’m always stable, Su,” leaning an elbow on the armrest, fist supporting his chin. Gesturing with his drink before taking another deep sip, “I take care of Lucy, kissing her boo-boos, I play with her, I help Ed with whatever he needs. I work to help support us, and if Aslan is kind, then I shall go to university so that I can do more to care for everyone.” Eyes going unfocused seeing the faces of his children, “And I shall continue to do all that for as long as I have breath, I will guide and protect all that I can.” 

Left unsaid that he had failed miserably once before, how he should have at least ordered she and the children back, for even if Edmund, Lucy and himself had returned to England, Susan, Alyssa, and Bryant would have been safe...and their unborn child would not have vanished, never to be born in either world. 

She knelt at his feet, one hand resting on his knee, the other his wrist, Susan’s voice was strained with emotion, shaking, “Peter we’re...we’re not adults here. We have to not live in the past.”

“You live in the past,” the words coming through with far less accusation than Peter probably deserved to put into them, instead, it was as longing and exhausted as he truly felt, expressed by words and deed, reaching out running his thumb over her lips. There was only a red mark on her cheek – hopefully it would fade by morning. 

It would be too hard to explain... 

Swallowing, she denied her knowledge, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Bryant and -“ he began to speak, to say their names.

“Stop!” her hands flying to cover her ears. Susan was using that broken tone that even Peter recognized as being too close to her defenses, that pressing further there would only result in all out attack that even he wouldn’t be able to defend against. “Don’t, please don’t Peter, I can’t. I just can’t think or talk about them…”

There was a reason she was always the last line of defense for Narnia, for there was no strategy, no defense, no attack, that could overcome the rage of a mother riding high in defense of her young.

Grunting, Peter chose a different, sideways tactic, “Not with me, huh? But you can with Ed.” Glaring, “Is he taking my place? Will he be the one who graces your bed soon?”

“You’re…you’re terrible!” she rocked back, utterly horrified and disgusted, hand fluttering to her throat. “How _dare_ you say such a thing?”

It was a feint that would cause Susan to overextend, defending a different part, and he would find the entrance to succeed. A war of wills, one he must win if there was to be any hope for them. For his sanity, his wife...

“I suppose I can dare to say anything when all it ever does is fall upon your deaf ears. It’s been months, Su, and I have to see my wife turn away from me again and again,” tired, he was so blasted tired, and in that weakness, that fatigue, Peter knew there was strength - Susan would be moved by her love, her deepest inner nature, and would extend her care to him. That would be his in since softer methods of coaxing, or those of might and cunning, had failed him. There was always strength in calculated weakness, in revealing that to her... 

With a shudder, Susan fell forward pressing her forehead to his thigh, fingers clawed into his calf, gasping for breath as though her soul was being torn, and it hurt Peter like a bolt of hot, searing agony, but this was for their own, ultimate good, “I’m not your wife here, I can’t be. It isn’t acceptable. They’d hurt you. They’d take you away from us. Or send me away. They would do everything to destroy, and there’d be no defense against them.”

“I need you Susan, I need my wife,” moving her hair from the nape of her neck, stroking the pearl white skin. “If I have you, I can survive this dull grey place with some sanity. You must trust me to find our way, Susan, but I need your support, so that I’ve the strength to do what must be done.”

He didn’t think to ask what she needed. Because Peter knew what Susan really needed was him, it was always that way and always would be. That would never change, just as the sun rose in the south of Narnia and set in the north, rather than the dull sun of Earth, their small planet orbiting the burning gas giant so the Sun rose east to west... Seeing his hand in her hair, cupping his sister’s head, he missed the sparkle on his ring finger, the weight that came from his wedding band. As soon as it could be managed, he would have it replaced...a poor copy was better than that glaring, empty spot. 

Watching as she visibly collected herself, Susan nodded to nothing in particular. “I didn’t know it meant so much,” blue sky eyes glanced at him askance. 

Cupping her chin, draining his cup to the halfway point, “It does.”

Her movements were tentative, and then her robe was on the floor revealing the lavender silk camisole and bloomers he’d managed to get her at some point. Red would have been fine, but lusty, aggressive, but too cheap looking in the English and French styles he had come across... No, the lavender was as close to suitable as this paltry place could provide. At the sight of her dressed for him so, Peter’s heart stilled, it had been five months since they had left Narnia, and it had been that long since he’d seen her like this. Fingers went to his belt, loosening it as she knelt once more between his spread knees, her wavy chocolate tresses spilling around her shoulders. Lifting his hips so she could push his pants down far enough, then Susan’s head dipped forward. Velvety soft tongue swirling over the head of his ever ready prick - always ready for her, to show her what she did to him to speak with his flesh. Combing his fingers through her hair, Peter finished off his drink in long swallows while Susan opened her mouth sucking on him. Groaning, Peter slouched, relaxing into his beloved’s care. Wet heat that was burningly smooth, a trail of kisses down his length and Peter sighed. He’d have to buy prophylactics later so he could be inside of Susan, and at some point, she would have to be fitted for a womb veil, at least until he had gone to and exited uni, after which he would resettle them somewhere better. Then they could expand their family once more, and Peter could provide Susan with children that may heal the void left by their lost ones. For now he’d take this and save figuring out a way to return to their rightful relationship for later. 

XXX

Peter was relieved when he wasn’t called to serve like some of his other classmates. It would have put a damper on things with Susan, which were slowly progressing back to normal. Edmund gave him a look one day that said he knew what was going on, but his brother only cautioned him to be careful with their sister’s state of mind. The loss of the children weighed heavily on Peter and the fact that Susan would not speak of it with him was an even greater issue. But for now it was of no matter. 

He went back to watching Susan, to making sure all was as well as it could be. The radio would play a dance, and he would take her hand, pulling her to the floor. Their mother had seen it and only commented on the fact that he was such a wonderful brother and would make a fine husband for a lucky girl one day. Little did she know that Peter already was a good husband and that it was he who was lucky – for he had his beautiful Susan back. Despite the dreary surroundings of England, she went back to blooming all over again as she had in Narnia, but without the same ethereal grace of the dresses of that lush land. Lucy was the only one who seemed wholly fine with everything, she believed with everything inside that they’d return. Peter wished he had her faith, what he wouldn’t give to have his family to himself once more, to be able to watch over Susan as her grace and beauty unfurled in the best of settings. 

Once he’d been a man, and he still was – stuck in this boy’s body. It brought many problems, his school courses were invariably boring, a trying test of his patience. But, Peter figured he must set a good example. Much of the problem stemmed from his distinct _difference_ from others. The boys of his class had always stood apart from him in the first, because compared to them he was far beyond them. Now? Now he was truly farther along than they could ever hope to be. He knew the scent of the battlefields they whispered about with awe. His knowledge that it was far from glamorous, and with the weapons of the present war, would be even more horrendous – but his one attempt at dispelling their foolish ideals was met with violence. 

XXX

“And what would you know _Pevensie_?” the name was spat. 

“I know that you’re a fool and that someone like you wouldn’t last two seconds in a real fight,” Peter’s voice was frosty.

Daniel Howard sneered at him, then looked to his friends, “A real fight? What say we show friend Pevensie what a real fight’s all about, lads!”

There was laughter, boyish and cruel. Peter almost felt sorry for their ignorance, but maybe it was better them than him on the killing fields. Feigning utter relaxation, Peter let the calm settle over his mind, he couldn’t be mad at them, anger was good for fuel so long as it didn’t rule the body but right now it was not needed. Falling into an utterly loose stance, he waited. Three to one odds would be nothing if his body was still at the peak he’d attained from years of training, and he knew that he couldn’t push himself the way he once had. But watching how jerky the trio’s movements were, Peter was aware that this would be no problem at all to handle. 

Daniel rushed him, the other two coming in and Peter dropped his shoulder low, leaning forward so that Daniel was carried with his momentum over Peter’s back. Of course with the aid of Peter grabbing Daniel’s leg above the knee and lifting. Spinning around, Peter swept out his foot hooking Harold by the ankle tripping him. Joseph slowed down, his movements cautious watching Peter. Now that was the first smart thing any of them had done, and Peter sized up the muscular boy. Behind him, Daniel was rising cursing a blue streak. Things would be easier if he had something to hold in his hands – a pipe would do, but there was nothing of the sort about. 

“Think you’re clever don’t you?” Joseph prodded.

Blinking slowly, Peter let no other reaction show. 

“Cocky, aren’t you?” now Daniel was up, circling around him with Joseph, then Harold was up and he was surrounded.

They now knew that they had to be more cautious with him, and Peter smiled internally. This could actually wind up being fun. In the end the result was Daniel with a jaw that had to be wired shut, and a few breaks for the other boys. For Peter he got bruised ribs and his eyebrow split, but mostly unscathed. 

XXX

“I thought the fights would stop,” Susan was blotting at his brow, a tin of thread and needle waiting to give him stitches. 

“They left me no choice,” grunting, reaching out and laying a hand on the dip in her waist. 

The front door opened and closed, Mrs. Pevensie entering the kitchen. Peter almost growled at the sight of his mother, but refrained. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Pevensie was strident, face flushed in anger.

Leaving his hand on Susan, Peter just looked at his mother with mild innocence, “Getting patched up?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it Peter Pevensie.” Their mother turned giving Susan a tired look, “And you little miss, how long has this been going on?” waving her hand at the two of them.

Peter could feel Susan tense, “How long has what been going on, Mum?”

Only he noticed that his Queen’s voice trembled. There were many ways that question could be taken, and Peter could formulate no response to the most important version of it. At least none that would satisfy Mother.

“The fighting, how long has it been going on? I got a call from the Headmaster and he was livid.”

“They attacked me, and I had little recourse but to retaliate,” Peter didn’t even wince as the curved needle pierced his flesh, the fist stitch settling into place, as he answered.

Mrs. Pevensie stared, “Susan, darling, where did you learn to do that?”

“It’s basic first aid, Mum,” Susan’s face pinched in concentration, relief thick in her gaze, “just like sewing, but without the cloth.”

Seeking to distract the woman, “So what did the Headmaster have to say?”

“What? Oh,” giving herself a shake. “He said that if you get in any more fights, that you will be expelled. Peter, dear, just how much have you been fighting? I know things are hard with Father gone, but please, you have to be more responsible…”

“I’m sorry Mother,” Peter tilted his head in mock shame, the picture of abject contrition. Of course he _wasn’t_ ashamed of his actions, he hadn’t started the fight at all – but he had finished it. 

“Does anything else hurt Peter?” Susan snipped the thread after it was tied off.

Stretching his shoulders back, Peter nodded, “My ribs are bruised, and I think one of them may be cracked.”

“Let me see,” his shirt was lifted enough for Susan to take a peek. “Definitely bruised, Peter it looks like you got mauled by a bear… What am I to do with you?”

“Peter!” their mother gasped, coming closer to the table where Peter was sitting, being tended to, “Oh my little boy… We need to take you to hospital, oh those boys! This is why you shouldn’t get into fights…”

Grunting without thought, “I’ve had far worse.” Unbuttoning his shirt, Peter set it aside, allowing Susan to continue her work, “It mostly hurts, nothing more. And at hospital they’d do little more than what Su’s doing already Mother. Possibly give me some morphine, or maybe some laudanum, but I think we have some still from when Lucy was sick. Nothing to worry over.”

Mrs. Helen Pevensie just gaped, like she didn’t know her children anymore. And she didn’t. That didn’t bother Peter, mostly he felt sorry for the woman, a distant affection, and that was all. Since their father had been called to serve on the front, Mother hadn’t been herself. As well as all the years in Narnia, Peter had almost entirely forgotten her existence, yet the fact of her existence had been there in his mind, it was just something he never thought of. 

Bandaging was wrapped around his chest and shoulders, giving his ribs the support and pressure that they would need to heal. Holding in a sound of distinct irritation, Peter had to work hard not to look at his torso where Susan was touching him, the memory of how his body was supposed to look like an after image something that was at times dizzying. Under almost any other circumstance, the former High King would have laid his head on his wife’s shoulder for comfort. But there was an audience. Instead, Peter tried to focus on Susan’s hands, they were a neutral territory that no one could complain or make comment about. 

“Darling, don’t you have some chores to go do?” Mrs. Pevensie tried to tactfully dismiss her daughter.

Removing his lazy grip on her waist, Peter signaled that he could handle the situation by himself, and Susan smiled tightly at Mother, “Of course Mum.”

Rather than watch Susan’s hips sway as she walked away, Peter hopped off the kitchen table, turning to look at his mother expectantly, “I’ll make you some tea Mother.”

As he moved around the kitchen, putting the kettle on to boil and rummaging for the tin of tea biscuits Susan always kept on hand, Peter felt the weight of his mother’s gaze. Allowing the woman to gather her thoughts, Peter waited, knowing that many times in any diplomatic endeavour that he would do best if he let the other person make the first move. Setting out two cups and a small plate of the biscuits, Peter remained silent. His motions were sure, steady and not awkward despite the fact that his body felt too small, he knew he’d grow another three or four inches in the next year or two, shoulders broadening. Pouring the boiling water into the warmed teapot, he heard the gusty sigh behind him. 

Making himself comfortable in his chair after serving Mother first then himself, Peter finally looked her in the eye. It was the heavy look he reserved for those situations when he wanted to let the other person know he would listen – but reserve the final judgment for himself.

“You’ve changed,” it was a simple statement.

The High King had changed many years ago, but the woman before him couldn’t know that, would never know that. Taking a sip of his tea, pulling a face, then adding a bit of the precious sugar to it, “All children change Mother.”

“That’s just it,” worried lines at the corner of her mouth and wrinkling her forehead, “you’re not a child anymore. Not that I can see.”

“Tell me, how old would I have to be to be called to serve Mother? I’m seventeen, and last year I could have been called up – in fact, I have several classmates who have been,” looking off into the distance. “So then, how many children are on those blood soaked fields?”

“You shouldn’t think about those things Peter,” fidgeting with her teacup on its saucer.

Draining off his tea, Peter got up, grabbing his shirts, “If you had eyes to see, then you would know that for quite some time we’ve all been different. As well as yourself. And if Father ever comes back – he won’t be the man who left. After the things that go on in this dreary, dark, drab and vile world – no one would ever be the same. I’m sure Su will have dinner ready shortly, and I have to check on the children.”

Turning his back on her, Peter hopefully had ensured his mother’s meddlesome ways would be kept in check.

XXX

Foolishly their Mother made attempts to earn her way back into her children’s hearts. Lucy accepted it with her usual zest for life, loving to feel loved and to give love in unrestrained fashion. Edmund was reserved, but it was the mildly agitated sort that indicated that he too, was pleased. Susan allowed it in a manner that spoke of tolerance. Peter was the lone voice of dissent. But he hid it well enough. Unfortunately an involved Helen Pevensie meant that Peter had to be more wary of possible discovery. 

He entered the school’s fencing club to keep himself in fighting trim, but it was hard while juggling his job and caring for his family. But he hadn’t been High King for seventeen years and not learned how to multitask. The teachers commented on his capabilities, praising all his coursework. That is when he actually did the work. Tests were never failed, but the petty busy work that they sent home with him was rarely handed in. A handful of fights happened, but mostly they were off campus and Peter would not be reprimanded. Except by his lovely wife. 

Peter found himself wishing harder and harder every single day to return home, to see his children – hopefully Mr. Tumnus was handling Bryant and Alyssa’s care. Things carried on in this manner for months, and Peter was more than a little relieved when his mother found another job, an evening one, that paid higher wages… And kept her out of the house from eight to eight. At least then it was easier for the family to fall back into its proper dynamic rather than the one where she had nosed around watching. After dinner, he and Edmund could play chess, Susan could embroider or read, and Lucy could play. It was peaceful all and all despite the heavy undercurrent of longing from all four to be restored to their rightful places. 

At night Susan would come to him, and he would allow her entrance to his room. He’d make love to her frantically sometimes, trying to devour everything she was – peaceful, tender, gentle, and loving – and take it for himself. Others, his need to control something, anything, took over and he would take it out on Susan. She accepted the punishment as she always had, with quiet grace, satiating his multitude of needs at her own expense. Peter was grateful to her for it, how well his beloved knew him. 

Edmund gave him a tired look every now and then, communicating not his disapproval of the relationship itself, but of something else entirely. Peter couldn’t figure out what it was, so would shove it aside. What it was that the younger Pevensie male took issue with, was that Susan was doing what she once had: bow to every single whim of Peter’s. At times Peter would stare darkly off into the distance, thumb rubbing the side of his ring finger as though spinning a band about it. 

Just when the bitter draught of acceptance started to fill him up, Peter felt the crackle in the air. Magic. Susan beside him had looked heartbreakingly hopeful, and Edmund, worried. Lucy had been bright and happy, having never lost faith. The beach had been wonderful, but Edmund had spotted the ruins, and Peter hadn’t even thought to dread such a thing. Peter’s world collapsed – his people were not in Cair Paravel, and his beautiful castle was in ruins. That wasn’t the worst part at all. Susan had moved around in a daze, denial filling her visage. 

Everyone they knew was long gone. 

Their children – were gone.

Dead.

XXX

Taking Susan aside as Lucy and Edmund got dressed, “Su our…”

“Don’t, please?” shivering weakly.

So Peter wrapped his arms around her, clinging, trying to bolster her strength. It came as some surprise that her eyes were dry, while his welled up and he cried. Her hands smoothed through his ragged blond hair, voice murmuring softly incoherent words. Desperation came with the tears, and the once gloriously proud king pushed his ever radiant queen to a wall, hiking her skirts up. 

Touching her sex, Peter sought Susan’s mouth, tongue sliding over hers. Massaging the tender pearl, Peter panted into the side of Susan’s neck, waiting until she was wet enough for him to push his fingers inside her body. Susan rode his hand until her muscles fluttered, fingers digging into his shoulders. Freeing his cock, Peter turned, bracing his back against the wall, feet planted wide, hoisting Susan up in his arms, until he could feel the heat from her sheath parting to accommodate him. 

He needed the comfort only she could give him, and Peter held out as long as he could, her legs wrapped tightly around his hips as she rocked. Peter just needed to feel connected to Susan, his wonderful and accepting Susan, he wanted to tell her everything was alright, that their children had probably had good, wonderful lives…. But he couldn’t say a word. Rapidly spent, Peter clutched Susan to his chest, sliding down to sit upon the stone floor, littered with dust and detritus then, miracle of miracles he felt Susan’s tears moistening the collar of his linen tunic. 

It had been forever since she’d let herself be weak before him. 

“Maybe, it has not been too long…?” Susan’s voice cracked.

Peter didn’t want to dash her hopes, but it was readily apparent from how worn Cair Paravel was, that it had been at least a century since they’d been here. Combing her hair from her face, Peter just squeezed his eyes closed, nodding, croaking out, “Maybe.”

There was no doubt it was an empty hope.

XXX

A Red Dwarf by name of Trumpkin was rescued, and Peter had no clue what to do about that. Particularly since the Dwarf had destroyed every single last shred of hope that his children yet lived. It wasn’t so much for himself that he worried then, it was for Susan, who had drawn herself up regally and stared straight ahead. Every time he tried to move closer to her after that, Susan wouldn’t spare him a single glance. It was like how things had been in England at first. 

Lucy had stuck close to Susan, as though to protect her from him. Edmund on the other hand stayed close to Peter, watching his every move, knowing that his temper may get away from his control. Trumpkin was both guide and irritant; the Dwarves had never been his favourite of Narnians for some strange reason. Well of course he didn’t care much for the Black Dwarves as they’d sided with Jadis, but that was besides the point. The Red ones hadn’t earned his distrust ever, but again, Peter’s reasons weren’t anything he could put his finger on. Trumpkin would at times look to Susan as though he were trying to figure what it was that seemed out of place. 

Then that upstart had shown up. Peter knew logically that he wouldn’t dislike the Telmarine so damn much if the young man hadn’t made mooncalf eyes at Susan. Not that the man had exactly done that either, it was that look of utter surprised interest that was quickly covered up. That, and Susan’s response, a blush and a smile then a fast glance away. As rivalries went, it was rather pathetic, Caspian’s body was in true fighting trim, and Peter’s wasn’t. He hadn’t been able to devote hours a day to working on his swordforms the way Caspian had. So the petty one-upmanship had to be confined to things Peter knew he could win. Which unfortunately wasn’t much since there were no chess sets available, and a game of footy or cricket was out of the question – and that was only if the young prince even knew what the games entailed. 

Besides this wasn’t year four on some playground – it was a real situation, with real consequences and a war to fight, a country to save, and people to free. And so Peter didn’t do much complaining, but he did do much glowering as Susan and Caspian spent many moments in the other’s company. What was even more of an aggravating thing, was that Edmund seemed to approve of Caspian and Susan spending time together. 

Much like his kind, Caspian was a usurper, and Peter felt as though his role were being taken over by someone younger with less experience. With less _right_. In some moments he could bring himself to hate the Telmarine, but the boy appeared to have the utmost respect for him, and seemed utterly unaware of his impact on the Pevensie family. Edmund had found a fellow enthusiast of fighting techniques and the two could often be spied going at each other like two young bucks, testing the other to their limits. Lucy had managed to find someone who would treat her as both child and adult, not questioning her wisdom nor her playfulness and they would gambol about together. And Susan found someone to sit quietly with, voices soft as they whispered. Of course Peter was sure that it all had to do with the fact that Caspian was like they had been when they’d gained their thrones – young, unsure, and desperate to do the right thing.

Small skirmishes cost a handful of lives here and there, and Peter had to admit, to himself at least, that Caspian was a halfway decent tactician, working with what he had in guerrilla warfare. And like a good leader, the Telmarine boy felt each death, but didn’t let it impair his judgment. Again, another thing Peter had to respect about him. But still, Susan spent far too much time with Caspian, and on at least one occasion, Peter was sure he had spied Susan slipping off to comfort the young leader. Peter was finding that his normally deep well of patience was wearing off when it came to those two.

Susan should be coming to take care of her _husband_ , not some...scrawny toothpick. Peter could disregard the fact that the young man was physically in fine form, he was still a spineless rubber band. Even had bad posture, shoulders always slumping, his chin jutting up more often than not as he slouched, head tipped back. Not a single scrap of spine or pride in the thieving prat. Plenty of gall though, always taking Susan’s hand, or sitting beside her for meals, touching her, even daring to - once, or at least once that Peter saw - kissing her palm. 

Lucy did ask after that if Caspian would be joining their family in a more literal sense, and if, when she grew up again, if _she_ could have two husbands too. He was incensed, but just smiled, kissing his little Lu on the forehead, smiling lovingly, and said that Lucy should have everything she wanted. For now, Susan could play, it kept the Telmarine occupied and out from underfoot. Maybe she could even teach him some important facets of ruling... Peter just gave Lucy a broader smile, kissed her cheek again, and offered to tell her a bedtime story... Which she turned down. _Apparently_ Caspian was intent on stealing Peter’s entire family. They would be able to leave as soon as they had finished what Aslan had called them for, or, He would allow them to have their own area, so that Caspian ruled the Telmarines, and the Pevensies ruled the Narnians. Nicely equitable, and Peter could ensure that there was enough separation so the boy wouldn’t continue seeking Susan. Bloody hell, he’d promise Lucy to the youth if that would work - they seemed to like one another, and he wanted his little girl to be happy when she was old enough. Just...he just wanted his own wife back and the prat to get out of his way! Was that too much to ask?


End file.
